


The Green Carnation

by n_a_feathers



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blackmail, M/M, fin de siècle au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 22:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10728693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_a_feathers/pseuds/n_a_feathers
Summary: Leonard and Lisa spot the boy with the green carnation in his buttonhole and think he'd be the perfect mark.





	The Green Carnation

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[授权翻译]绿色康乃馨/The Green Carnation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054808) by [kiy900](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiy900/pseuds/kiy900)



> The only thing I regret is that I couldn't fit "gamahuche" naturally into this story at some point.
> 
> Maybe next time.
> 
> The French is not Google-translated but is probably just as bad. Please feel free to offer corrections. (Translations should appear if you hover your cursor over the French phrases)
> 
> Thank you to [Max](http://maxine-kiy900.tumblr.com/) and Amao for the gorgeous art and book cover!

 

 

**1**

 

Saturday, 9th March 1895

 

“I adore watching people,” Lisa Snart proclaimed, peering through her glasses at the crowd that bustled all around them, waiting for the electric lights to dim properly and for the play to begin. “In fact, watching the audience is often more satisfying than the plays you drag me to.”

 

Her brother Leonard Snart would not dispute that. In most cases it was true. He suspected tonight might be an exception though.

 

They were at St James’ Theatre on King Street, a favourite of Lisa’s despite her protestations to the contrary. She liked the ostentatious Greek columns of the façade and the fact that the theatre had been built with the dress circle and boxes nearer to the stage than at any other in London. She liked being close to the action – though not so close that she’d brave the stalls without an ulterior motive.

 

It had been many years since they’d last been here. Their livelihood had seen them travelling the continent and abroad for almost a decade and it was only recently that they had returned to Albion and taken rooms in London. It had been so long since their last excursion here that St James’ had changed hands several times in the interim.

 

This particular night they had paid the £4 for one of the private boxes, an indulgence after the success of their last venture on the continent, to see Oscar Wilde’s newest play. Their box was furnished with outer curtains of figured cherry red silk, and inner curtains of Madras muslin. Inside, the panels of the box were in gold, pale green, and cream colour. Overall, it produced a sophisticated air that Leonard appreciated.

 

It was not enough that they should be enjoying this opulence though; the true goal was that other people should see them doing so. That Lisa had furnished herself with the finest fashions of Paris before they crossed the Strait of Dover only enhanced the spectacle.

 

Tonight she was dressed in a gold outfit, the dress fairly streamlined and simple despite its exotic floral patterning, the defining feature of the outfit being its large, ruffled leg o’mutton sleeves. Lisa had been intermittently pointing out people she found interesting for one reason or another as the pre-show began. This one had a necklace of particular beauty; that one’s pocket watch was a Canton; had he heard that the Marquis de Sainsbury had recently acquired a Monet? Leonard would dutifully pick them out of the crowd, make an appropriate comment and then go back to watching the show.

 

“Look at that, Lenny.” Leonard raised an eyebrow at her as she pushed her pair of opera glasses his way with more than her usual fervour. “The boy over the way, at the back of the dress circle. Just your type. He’s wearing a green carnation, though his dress is otherwise by the book. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in that hue. It can’t be natural.”

 

Leonard took up the glasses and followed her pointing finger to the other side of the dress circle. Indeed, there was a youth there sporting a dyed carnation in his buttonhole. Leonard watched as he shifted awkwardly in his seat, eyes fixed to the stage, his arms pulled in tight against his body so he didn’t brush up against anybody in the neighbouring seats. “ _En vert_.”

 

_En vert_. In green. But also a homonym of _invert_.

 

“ _En vert_?” Lisa pursed her lips in thought. “Oh, I see. A French pun. Very clever. I suppose it has something to do with the playwright.”

 

“Wilde? Yes, I suppose so,” Leonard answered distractedly. He continued to study the lad. He was possessed of extraordinary personal beauty; Bartolini might have sculpted the gentle incarnadine bow of his lips and the peculiar dynamic quality of his eyes. “He’s always making a spectacle. I think I remember someone mentioning that the green carnation was _à_ _la mode_ in his circle while we were abroad.”

 

“Then the boy’s a few years out of fashion. Should we make his acquaintance? Wood says there’s some advantage in that kind of work.”

 

Leonard considered him. He was dressed fashionably enough despite the belated buttonhole. If Leonard had to guess, taking in his age, appearance and dress, he’d place him as a student. Middle class. The particular way in which he avoided all contact, physical and conversational, with those in his neighbouring seats suggested he didn’t have a companion with him. That most likely meant he was either up from the country and didn’t know anyone, or he did have friends but this mission to the theatre was personal. In light of the carnation, Leonard suspected the latter. “He looks well off. I don’t suppose it could hurt. It might make an… interesting diversion from our usual routine.”

 

“We’ll look for him at intermission,” said Lisa, settling back in her seat and setting the glasses aside. “Buttonhole considered, I’ll let you take the lead on this one, brother dearest. I think you’ll have more luck.”

 

Leonard smile was languid. “Is that an admission of my superior skill?”

 

“No, it is an admission of your Uranian sympathies,” Lisa said, teasingly.

 

Leonard was about to retort when the stage curtains were drawn back on a morning-room, the first set of the main play. Lisa’s smug countenance was almost enough to make him shirk common etiquette and continue his riposte but then he thought better of it. It was the wrong kind of attention to be drawing to themselves.

 

On the stage, the manservant was arranging afternoon tea.

 

 

 

**2**

 

It took some time but eventually the Snart siblings were able to locate the lad they’d spotted in the circle. He stood apart from the crowd, awkwardness apparent in every affectation to the contrary. He was perfect.

 

Leonard approached from the side and took a companionable grip on the lad’s shoulder once he was close enough. Leaning in close to his ear, Leonard said, “I greatly admire your little buttonhole.”

 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” the boy said, paling and trying to move away. “I would ask you to please remove your hand from my person.”

 

“That’s ‘my lord’ to you.”

 

The boy faltered, thrown by the comment and no longer as confidant in his indignation. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Lisa intervened. “Excuse my brother, sir.” She gave Leonard a pointed look until he withdrew his hand. “Manners often elude him. May I introduce Leonard Snart, Earl of Wynters.”

 

The lad flushed, embarrassed. He was quick to offer his apologies. “I’m sorry, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”

 

“Quite fine,” Leonard brushed the offence away as though it was nothing. “And this is my sister, Lady Lisa.”

 

Lisa sidled forward and took the lad’s arm in her own, pulling them close like fellow conspirators who had known each other much longer than the few seconds they actually had. The boy startled but to his merit, adapted quickly to the impropriety. “How are you enjoying the play, Mr…”

 

“Bartholomew Allen.”

 

“Mr Allen?”

 

“I’m quite pleased by it,” Allen replied to her, obviously careful with his words and reserving much of his enthusiasm in favour of providing accepted critique. “Mr Wilde has a talent for wit that is peerless.”

 

“You’re certainly not mistaken,” Leonard opined, disgruntled that he had been physically sidelined from the conversation by Lisa’s manoeuvring. His words brought Allen’s attention back to him though. “What brings you to the theatre tonight? You seem to be alone.”

 

“I’ve come up to London early. Hilary is not quite finished and so all my classmates remain at school.” Leonard had guessed right about him being a student. “I’ve been hard pressed to keep myself entertained without them though.” He gestured to their surroundings in a broad, sweeping movement. “Thus, you find me here tonight.”

 

Leonard doubted there was much truth in that statement. Allen’s journey to the theatre had more behind it than simply wasting time.

 

“And in such curious costume,” Leonard said, pushing the boundaries by drawing in close and tracing the peculiar colouring of Allen’s buttonhole. He perhaps lingered too long but there was no use being coy. He wanted the lad to be entirely clear as to his intentions, should he and his sister’s assumption be correct. “Artifice elevates. Nature only wishes it could think up the things man does.”

 

“And you, my brother,” Lisa pulled Allen away from him, “can only effuse so because your views too are as intricate, beautiful and – ultimately – as useless as any piece of art. At least nature produces useful objects.”

 

“It produces droll objects. But this is an age old tiff that shall not be resolved tonight. Mr Allen does not want to hear us squabble, do you, Mr Allen?”

 

Allen, when they turned to him, just looked bewildered, which was the intended outcome of their volleying. It made their marks that much more pliant if they were kept ever on the back foot.

 

“You’re in the dress circle, aren’t you?” Lisa asked, knowing full well he was. “I thought I saw you across the way. Perhaps you would do us the honour of joining us in our box? Oscar Wilde sat in it only 2 days past, you know. Lenny can be such a bore sometimes. I would appreciate the company of someone closer to my age.”

 

“You’re hardly a spring chicken, sister.”

 

The lad faltered for a second, obviously caught off guard by the offer. It didn’t take long for him to make his decision though. Len guessed he had the same awe of upper class privilege that all these young aspiring aesthetes had. “I… would like that. Greatly. You’re quite sure I wouldn’t be an imposition?”

 

Leonard took Allen’s other arm in his. “No, of course not.”

 

Allen looked between the two siblings, each with an arm slung through his.

 

“Please, lead the way.”

 

 

**3**

 

After the play was finished and the actors had taken their last bow, the theatre-goers streamed out into the carriage-lined streets. Leonard and Lisa kept Barry between them at all times, guiding him through the crowds and out until they had some little room to themselves on the pavement.

 

Leonard checked his watch. Almost eleven. “Why don’t you join us for supper at our hotel?”

 

Barry’s eyes darted to Lisa. “I’m not sure…”

 

“Nonsense,” Leonard waved as though dismissing Allen’s misgivings. “I won’t hear any objections on the basis of morality or good living or such. You shouldn’t care a wit about propriety. Only the boring ever do.” With more of a teasing tone, he continued, “I will act as chaperone. I promise on my honour that I shall not allow Lisa to impugn your virtue. Just a night cap and we’ll let you go.”

 

“Please, Mr Allen.” Lisa moved closer to Allen, sandwiching him more firmly between the two of them. “Stay with us just a little longer.”

 

He hesitated, his eyes darting between the siblings, before finally saying, “I suppose.”

 

“Wonderful. Lenny, hail us a hansom!”

 

Barry elevated his eyebrows. “But…”

 

“Don’t you worry yourself, Mr Allen. We’ll fit in a pinch.”

 

Leonard stepped half into the street and raised his hand to signal a coachman. They climbed into the back of the hackney carriage once it pulled up, the siblings cramming Barry between them. It was a tight fit with the three of them. Leonard ended up slinging an arm around Barry’s shoulders to make a little more room for Lisa.

 

“But where is your own carriage?” Barry asked in disbelief as they started off. “Your servants?”

 

“Oh, I assure you, Mr Allen, we are thoroughly modern. We can even dress ourselves. ” Lisa dropped her head and delivered the next line from underneath hooded eyes. Leonard had seen her do it to countless young gentlemen before. “And undress, though a helping hand never goes astray.”

 

The young man blushed, as they all did.

 

“Quit teasing him,” Leonard chastised as he produced his cigarette case, genuinely annoyed for some reason he could not explain to himself.

 

“But he colours so nicely.”

 

“Would you like one?” Leonard asked, holding the case out to Barry.

 

Barry looked to Lisa and then quickly declined. Leonard shrugged, put the cigarette between his lips and pulled out a box of matches to light it. Barry startled as with quick and nimble fingers Lisa stole a cigarette from her brother and lit her own first from the match he’d just struck.

 

“You are not at all what I expected,” Barry exclaimed.

 

“I hope that is a compliment.”

 

Barry seemed to consider for a second before acceding. “It is.”

 

 

 

**4**

 

Almost a full half hour had passed by the time their hansom pulled to a stop in Savoy Court.

 

“This is where you’re staying?” Allen said in awe as he dismounted the carriage.

 

“Oh yes.” Lisa took his proffered hand to steady herself as she alighted. “Have you ever been to the Savoy, Mr Allen?”

 

“No, I must confess that I have not.”

 

Lisa grew excited at the prospect of sharing her enthusiasm for the modern conveniences of the new hotel with someone new. Leonard was glad someone else would take the brunt of her fervour for the night; he’d been suffering it for the last few days. “You must see the rooms. We have both cold and hot water available instantly to us. It’s quite amazing.”

 

Leonard leant in close to advise him not to protest. “She won’t hear of you leaving before seeing the rooms.” He clapped Allen on the back, startling the lad into movement again. “We’ll go up after supper.”

 

They passed the fountain and gardens of the courtyard and were met at the entrance by the doorman who greeted the Snarts by name and briefly enquired how they had found the night’s play. As they walked through the reception area, Allen marvelled at the opulence surrounding them. Lisa and Leonard smiled knowingly to each other while he wasn’t looking.

 

They led him down marbled hallways into the supper room. The usual after-theatre crowd was there but a table was quickly prepared for the trio.

 

The walls were panelled in mahogany, with golden frieze, and there was a gold and red ceiling but it was the chandelier where Allen’s eyes were riveted. Leonard reached out and gave him a light touch on the shoulder to draw his attention back to them.

 

“Where are you staying, Mr Allen?”

 

“I’m currently with my parents while I’m down for the weekend. My father works as a physician in Knightsbridge.”

 

Physician was a respectable occupation. A scandal could do a lot of harm to his practice.

 

A menu was delivered and Lisa ordered on behalf of them all in fluent French without consulting the men first. Allen looked hesitantly between the price-less menu and Leonard’s indulgent smile to his sister. Leonard could sense his discomfort.

 

“Don’t look so worried,” he reassured. “You are our guest tonight.”

 

“I’m sorry to admit my ignorance,” Allen said, “but I’ve never heard your names mentioned before. Where do you hail from?”

 

Leonard and Lisa exchanged a glance and Lisa motioned to her brother to take the question. “We spend most of our time abroad, to be completely honest with you. The management of the estate is left to others in our family, those with less of an adventurous spirit. We’ve only been back in London the last fortnight.”

 

“And where were you before London?”

 

“We have been in Morocco, enjoying the sunshine.” Lisa feigned distress. “English winters are so dreary.”

 

“The same could be said of the summers,” quipped Leonard.

 

“Morocco, you say? I did think you looked a little tanned.” Lisa and Leonard smiled at each other like that was an inside joke, and – obviously feeling awkward, maybe thinking he’d said something wrong – Allen blustered on. “I would love to go myself.”

 

“Have you been abroad at all?”

 

“No,” Allen said, fiddling with his fork. “I would like to go on a grand tour once I’ve graduated though.”

 

“The continent is a treasure trove of curiosities, scattered with the bone-bleached ruins of old empires, but there is something to be said for Africa and the Far East as well.”

 

“What of America?”

 

“What of America, you ask? Why, it’s a whole other world!” As an afterthought, Leonard added, “I’ll take you one day.”

 

Allen flushed.

 

“Don’t listen to Lenny, Mr Allen. He talks big but that is all it is: talk. He’s forty-four and still a bachelor. Travel is his only consolation in life. How pitiful!”

 

“Is that true?” Allen leant closer as the waiter set their desserts on the table.

 

“What? That I am a bachelor or that I am forty-four?”

 

“Well, either, I suppose.”

 

“Yes, true on both counts I’m afraid.”

 

 

**5**

 

After dinner the siblings convinced Bartholomew Allen to come up to their rooms. They rode the lift for the novelty.

 

“Call me Barry, please,” he’d told them as they rose, the lift attendant ignoring them with practised ease. “All my friends at school do.”

 

Leonard hung his coat up as they entered the rooms and then threw himself down on the couch. He lit a cigarette in his recline and watched as the blue wreaths of smoke wafted above him. “Did you see the Comte de Roissy? What an eye-sore his sense of fashion is.”

 

Barry took more care in seating himself. They’d already polished off two bottles of champagne in the supper room, but Lisa made her way over to the drinks trolley and began mixing.

 

“Isn’t he wicked?” Lisa leant in conspiratorially towards Barry as she handed him a whiskey and soda. “Do you know, Mr Allen, that my brother has an entire greenhouse on our estate that’s full of flowers that look like imitations of themselves?”

 

“Really?”

 

“And that he had a tortoise gilded and bejewelled to compliment an Oriental rug?”

 

“No!”

 

“And that he once decked the house out in black and invited people to come mourn the death of his virility?”

 

Barry looked at her sidelong. “You are teasing me again.”

 

“She is,” said Leonard, ashing his cigarette. “I can assure you that any reports of the death of my virility are greatly exaggerated.”

 

He smiled wickedly at the lad who wouldn’t meet his eye.

 

“He does have a perfect memory though.” Lisa took a seat on the last armchair. “There’s no use trying to trip him up, you won’t be able to. He remembers everything.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Fetch one of those books, Mr Allen. Any of the ones on the shelf over there.” She gestured leisurely. “He’s read them all. Pick a page and see how he can recite it word for word. It’s astounding.”

 

Barry hesitated over the books for a minute before selecting one with a cream-coloured cover. Leonard smiled.

 

“I should have known you’d choose that. Well then, pick a page.”

 

The lad flipped through the book deliberately, scanning pages one by one until he came to what he’d been searching for. “210. Following on from: ‘ _and with wild, tear-dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield.”_

 

“ _Once, some one who had terribly loved him had written to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous words:”_ Leonard gazed straight at Barry as he murmured, _“‘the world is changed because you are made of ivory and_ jasper. _The curves of your lips rewrite history.’_ ”

 

Lisa had not noticed the substitution but Barry obviously had. A look passed between the two before Barry breathlessly whispered as though in a daze, “amazing.” If he had trouble meeting Len’s eyes before, now he could not tear them away.

 

Leonard shifted so that he was sitting upright and patted the seat next to him. Barry took it obediently.

 

The lad seemed to search for a topic of conversation internally for a moment and settled on, “do you often go to the theatre?”

 

Very innocuous. “We try to go when we can.”

 

“We saw Sarah Bernhardt, didn’t we Lenny?” Lisa said. “In Paris, two years ago. She was transcendent, _magnifique_. I have never seen such a beautiful and talented woman.”

 

“I can’t believe I was only 2 days shy of seeing Oscar Wilde in the flesh,” Barry lamented. “If only I’d skipped class and come down earlier.”

 

“You hold him in high esteem, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, there’s almost no one I admire more.”

 

“If you go to the right places, you’re bound to see him sooner or later.” Leonard lifted his drink and took a sip. “I hear he’s very social, though I imagine he’ll be preoccupied preparing for the trial for a while.”

 

Barry mirrored his actions. “Tonight has been a rarity, actually. I don’t go out often.”

 

“We’ll take you out,” Lisa suddenly announced. “When you have returned from college, we’ll seek the playwright out, wherever he may be. It shall be a game.”

 

Barry’s smile was blinding.

 

They talked theatre a little longer, Barry mostly in the theoretical, before Lisa began to feign displays of tiredness.

 

“I must beg your pardon, Mr Allen,” she finally said. “It has been a long day and I find myself quite exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the evening.” She rose and kissed him on the forehead as she passed. He startled momentarily but then seemed to take it as just another peculiarity of the siblings. “But please don’t leave on my account. Stay and keep Lenny company a little longer. He has trouble falling asleep. You know how old people are.”

 

“Leave us be, harpy. We’ll be glad to be rid of your presence.”

 

“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Lisa.” Barry took her hand in his and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I hope this is the beginning of a long friendship.”

 

“I am sure of it. Good night.”

 

They watched her go until she had closed the door to her rooms behind her.

 

 

**6**

 

Silence fell on the room as Barry looked around nervously, anywhere but at Leonard’s face. Then he stood and went to look out the window, no doubt admiring the view of the river.

 

“Where do you study, Mr Allen?”

 

“I’m reading chemistry at Merton, Oxford.” He turned back to look at Leonard. “And please, as I said before, call me Barry. I meant what I said to your sister, I hope we’ll be fast friends.”

 

“Chemistry? Well, isn’t that impressive, Barry. What do you hope to be?”

 

“I’m not quite sure.” Barry wandered back to the lounge suite and took his original chair, away from Leonard. “Perhaps I’ll go into the medical field like my father. I would like to help people.”

 

“And I’m sure you will. You’ve done considerable good in healing my mood tonight.”

 

Barry laughed. “You flatter me, sir.”

 

“If I’m to call you Barry, then you must call me Len. What really brings you up to London? You said the school term is not yet up, shouldn’t you be preparing for exams or some such?”

 

“I had heard… but, no. It’s silly.”

 

“Indulge me.”

 

“The newspapers said that The Importance of Being Earnest was brilliant, something else entirely. I simply couldn’t wait another week for term to finish, I just had to see it.”

 

“And did you agree?”

 

“It was humorous, I must admit that, exceedingly so.” He paused. “But… I can’t help but feel that The Picture of Dorian Gray is his more… personal work. It still speaks more to me.”

 

Leonard had an inkling of what Barry was talking about. Of course there had been rumours. And someone in Leonard’s line of work heard more than the average person on the street. It was what had inspired this little gambit of his and Lisa’s in the first place.

 

Apropos of nothing (at least as far as the boy could tell), Leonard said, “The season is in full swing. Have you had any chance to go courting, Mr Allen?”

 

Barry looked thrown by the lack of segue for a moment before rolling with the conversation. “No. Well, that is to say, I’ve had a fair go at it before but I seem to fail rather spectacularly.” He finished with a self-deprecating laugh. “I have never had much luck with the fairer sex. Perhaps after I graduate my prospects will look better.”

 

“People are likely to get the wrong impression if you go out like that,” said Leonard, nodding to his ensemble.

 

“Like what?” Barry asked, scanning his attire.

 

“The carnation, my boy. You have to know the things they say in hushed tones about Wilde, especially now with this libel trial muddying the waters. I assume _he_ is the reason you’ve adopted this affectation?”

 

Barry dropped his eyes for a second and his hands clenched into fists where they lay in his lap. His gaze when he finally lifted his head and met Leonard’s was fiery and unwavering. “I should think if people got the wrong impression of me – the one to which you refer – it wouldn’t be the wrong impression in the slightest.”

 

Leonard had to admire the boy.

 

“Come here.” He patted the seat beside him.

 

Barry’s eyes widened. “Pardon?”

 

“Come sit by me.” Barry looked nervous but he acquiesced. Len surveyed his face, searching out the small tells that, by necessity, he’d become master of reading early on in life. “I have an impression of you that I feel is correct. Please stop me if I’m wrong.”

 

Leonard lifted a hand and cupped Barry’s cheek, going slowly so that the lad might pull away if Leonard’s sense of him had been mistaken. He did not retreat though.

 

He started by imitating Lisa only a quarter of an hour before: tilting Barry’s head down and kissing him chastely on the forehead. When he pulled away to judge the lad’s reaction, his eyes were closed and his mouth hung slightly open. Leonard would take that as a positive sign.

 

The next kiss he placed to the left of Barry’s eye after moving his face to the side. His eyelids fluttered but did not open. His breath quickened.

 

If his previous attempts had not made his intention obvious, this second last did. He brushed the corner of Barry’s mouth; that point where the maddening curves of his lips converged.

 

Leonard drew back. Barry was still, almost preternaturally so, as though in a daze.

 

Finally he coaxed Barry towards him and captured the boy’s lips with his own. It was as though a thread snapped in Barry all of a sudden. He had suffered the other kisses passively, like Leonard’s very own Galatea – though unlike Pygmalion, Leonard could never have conceived of and wrought the beauty of Barry with his own two hands. He was simply too perfect. Now he surged against Leonard, catching him off guard with his enthusiasm and almost pushing him onto his back.

 

Leonard did all he could to match the lad’s passion, but eventually he had to fist his fingers in Barry’s hair and tug him backwards gently for respite. That elicited a moan from him that Leonard had not been expecting. It did help to slow things down though, momentarily.

 

“ _J'ai baise_ _ta bouche, Bar-talmai_ _,”_ Leonard murmured against his lips.

 

Barry pulled back enough to look Leonard properly in the eyes. “Are you quoting Salome to me?”

 

“I am perhaps borrowing a phrase.” Leonard smirked cheekily. “What else can I do with this damned memory?”

 

Barry quirked an eyebrow. “Are you planning on having me beheaded?”

 

“Not anytime soon. You’re much too fascinating.”

 

Leonard rose from the couch and watched as uncertainty flickered across Barry’s face. He was still leant over, shaped like a puzzle piece around the spot Leonard had vacated. If he sat down again, they could continue trading frantic kisses like a couple who had managed to slip their chaperone for a few fleeting moments of indulgence.

 

That wasn’t their situation though.

 

“Come to bed with me.”

 

Barry straightened up, eyes darkening under his fringed lashes.

 

“All right,” he said at last.

 

 

**7**

Sunday 10th March 1895

 

Leonard woke to the motions of another body in his bed. The sun peeking through the curtains told him it was much too early to be awake after the excesses of the night before and he tried to make this fact apparent to Barry by getting an arm around his waist and pulling his back flush against Leonard’s front, settling down to slip into slumber once more.

 

Barry rolled over in his arms so they were face to face, expression much too awake and alert for the current hour. “I have to go.”

 

Leonard hummed discontentedly. “Stay. Just a little longer.”

 

Barry leant forward and closed the distance between them. Those lips of his could goad Leonard on to madness. No wonder he went easily when Barry nudged him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his hands above his head.

 

“I have to catch my train back to Oxford.”

 

Leonard struggled against Barry’s hold on him, only a token resistance for show. “When will I see you again?”

 

“The term finishes in a week. I’ll be back next Saturday.” Barry kissed Leonard long and deep and then slid off the bed and to his feet.

 

Leonard watched him go, enjoying the play of muscles across his back. He was slim but wiry, as though he boxed or ran.  “Write to me.”

 

“I will.” Barry moved around the room picking up his items of clothing and redressing himself. Leonard continued to lounge on the bed and enjoy the view. That is until Barry went to the windows and drew back the curtain. “You should get up and start your day.”

 

Leonard hissed at the encroaching morning.

 

“A gentleman never rises before midday,” Leonard shouted after Barry’s retreating back, an arm slung over his eyes to keep out the sunlight.

 

When Leonard awoke properly sometime later, he found the green carnation sitting on his bedside table.

 

He smiled as he took it up and twirled it between his fingers.

 

 

**8**

 

_Tuesday, 12 th March 1895_

_Dearest Len,_

_I have returned to college to see the term out but I feel now –_ intensely _– that something is lacking in my life. The sky doesn’t seem so blue nor does the food here sate me. I drink but my thirst is unquenched. I long for the holidays when I can return to London and see you again. How can four days seem like an eternity?_

_I hope you have not forgotten me. I know I shall never forget you, though I do not quite understand what it is that I feel. I am a mess of emotions._

_I wish we had not parted at all. My only consolation is that I will see you in less than a week’s time. I shall suffer until then._

_Ever yours,_

_Barry_

 

 

Wednesday, 13th March 1895

 

“He writes to you,” Lisa observed from across the room.

 

Leonard looked up from to-day’s letter. “He writes to me nightly.”

 

Lisa dropped herself in the seat beside him with not an ounce of grace, satin puffing out in every which way, “Lenny, why didn’t you tell me? This is wonderful. Anything of substance?”

 

“Substance?” Len pretended to consider. “No. Sentiment? Exceedingly.”

 

Lisa did not look perturbed. She began to play with her hat, adjusting it this way and that until it sat at the exact angle she wanted it. How she judged that angle, Leonard would never know. “I’m sure you can nudge him in the right direction. We need something we can use.”

 

Leonard tapped his fingers in a syncopated rhythm against his knee.

 

He found himself arguing indirectly against his sister – a rare thing as they were usually in perfect accord. “He’s an innocent. He probably doesn’t even know what a molly house is.”

 

She seemed to mistake his reluctance for assurance. “All the better. He’ll be so eager to brush this whole affair under the rug, he’ll capitulate immediately.”

 

Leonard frowned. He didn’t himself understand this desire to protect Barry that had grown within him, couldn’t rationally explain it to himself. All he knew was that he couldn’t use Barry in the way they’d initially planned.

 

Eventually he decided bluntness was the best way to proceed. Lisa may resent him at first but they’d never had a falling out so great that they didn’t eventually see eye-to-eye and make up.

 

“I’ve changed my mind. We’ll find another mark.”

 

As he’d expected, Lisa didn’t look happy. “Lenny, you know we’re running out of time. Our finances aren’t infinite and _he’ll_ come looking for us soon. And if not him, any of the thugs we’ve double-crossed over the years.”

 

Leonard knew that. He was well aware of the sword that hung over their heads. He estimated they had about a month to guarantee their next allowance before they would be in hot water, as long as they didn’t attract the wrong kind of notice in the meantime.

 

“You like him, don’t you?”

 

Leonard chose to ignore the question. If she was asking then she already knew the answer. “I can make it work. Trust in me, sister.”

 

“I always do, Lenny.” She slung her arms around his neck and nuzzled against the side of his face like a kitten. “But I fear we’re in dangerous waters if we change plans now.”

 

“It is what it is.” With Lisa on his side, they’d make it somehow. They always did. “Find us a new mark.”

 

 

**9**

 

Saturday, 16th March 1985

 

Leonard and Lisa looked to the back of their box as they heard a scuffling on the other side of the door. Their guest cast a glance to the door but then looked back to the play. Lisa quirked an enquiring eye at her brother but he shrugged, not having any more idea than she did of what it could mean.

 

Suddenly the door was flung open and Barry stood in the threshold, a little breathless and with a flush to his cheeks.

 

A moment passed between the three of them, each looking to the others in turn, no one saying anything and the fourth in their party studiously ignoring it all to watch the stage. Barry’s eyes landed on this other occupant of their box, the boring but enormously wealthy son of some _nouveau riche_ American that Lisa had identified and charmed for them.

 

Finally, Leonard said, “Barry?”

 

That one word broke the spell of silence and then Barry was apologising. “I’m sorry. I just got in to London but you weren’t at the Savoy. I was leaving but the doorman recognised me and told me where you were and I came by but now I see how impudent of me that was. I should just –” and he motioned back towards the door.

 

“Barry,” Leonard said, “come and take a seat.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument.

 

But Barry still refused. He was already halfway out of the door before Leonard was even able to rise from his seat and chase after him.

 

Leonard finally caught him in the theatre’s foyer, getting a hand around his arm and pulling him to a stop. Barry was flushed – whether from exertion or embarrassment, Leonard could not guess. His eyes were wet with unshed tears and he worried his lip between his teeth.

 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

 

Leonard was not sure what had provoked such a strong reaction in the lad. He stroked a calming hand down his arm. “Barry, talk to me. Tell me what the matter is.”

 

“I haven’t done this before. I don’t know how –” He sobbed and a tear tracked its way down his cheek. Leonard longed to wipe it away but felt it would do nothing to calm Barry. Belatedly, he looked around at their surroundings, at the theatre’s staff who pretended not to be playing _voyeur_ to the scene.

 

“Barry, darling boy, will you come back to the Savoy with me? Let us talk in private.”

 

“No, please.” He would not lift his head to look at Leonard. “I don’t want to take you away from him. I’m being silly.”

 

“From whom?”

 

“The man in your box.”

 

Leonard laughed then, and Barry seemed to swell before his eyes in indignation. “I don’t see why you have to laugh at me. I find it particularly cruel. I did not mistake your intentions deliberately. If I had known that—”

 

“He is no one,” Leonard assured. “Lisa picked him up at some ball. Come home with me. I’ve missed you.”

 

Barry’s eyes shot up, hope in them now. “Truly?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Barry ducked his head again but Leonard caught the blush at the tips of his ears.

 

“All right.”

 

 

**10**

 

Lisa waltzed into the apartment hours later, alone. Leonard had not expected her so soon but she must have skipped their usual post-theatre supper in his absence. She did not seem thrown by the sight of Leonard and Barry sitting almost in each other’s laps on the couch, a slight blush on the latter’s face. She simply remarked, “I’m sorry we won’t be able to make good on our promise.”

 

“Pardon?” Barry asked in bafflement.

 

“Wilde,” she clarified, untying her silk evening mantle. “They say he’s holidaying with Lord Douglas in Monte Carlo.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Lisa threw the mantle over Leonard’s head and took the seat on Barry’s other side. She leant in close as her brother struggled to untangle himself and whispered to Barry, “You’re still welcome to dine out with us. I’ve been trying to find your substitute but everyone falls short.”

 

He beamed. “I would like that.”

 

“Good. We’ll have luncheon tomorrow.” She thought for a second. “At the Cadogan. I assume you’ll spend the night?”

 

Barry’s strangled splutter was affirmation enough.

 

Lisa smiled like the cat that got the cream. “We’ll go direct then.”

 

She reached out and made a show of flattening Barry’s tousled hair back into style, Barry looking more and more flustered the longer she went on.

 

“You could be a little more subtle,” she chastised.

 

“And you could be a little less annoying,” Leonard replied, swatting her hand away.

 

“Oh, brother mine, don’t ask for the impossible.” Lisa rose, yawning as she stretched her arms above her. “I think I’ll retire early and leave you two to it.”

 

Leonard waved her off dismissively but Barry said, “Goodnight, Lisa.”

 

She smiled down at him. “Goodnight, Barry.”

 

When she’d moved from the room, Barry shuffled back into the position he’d been in before they’d heard her entering the apartment. Laying on the couch with his head in Leonard’s lap, he looked up and remarked, “You two are quite fond of one another, aren’t you?”

 

Leonard looked tenderly toward where his sister had disappeared into her rooms.

 

“Yes, but you mustn’t tell anyone. It’s our most closely guarded secret.”

 

 

 

**11**

Sunday, 17th March 1895

 

Barry had, as a youth, gone regularly to church with his parents. The habit had lapsed somewhat by the time he left for university and he now mostly went as an afterthought. This morning he was woken by the pealing of bells from the nearby churches calling the faithful to worship.

 

He looked at Leonard still fast asleep beside him and was conflicted.

 

He would like to stay in this little apartment forever. The idea of returning to Oxford at the end of next month was already hateful to him. He liked Leonard, more than anyone he’d ever met, and Lisa’s easy acceptance made it all seem so simple.

 

He knew things were different outside this one apartment at the Savoy though. He knew there were expectations placed on him by his parents, his friends and society at large. He was to graduate next year, come home and probably take over his father’s practice whenever he decided to retire. Perhaps there would be a wife and children in his future. Where then did Leonard fit in?

 

But why should he sour to-day’s happiness with to-morrow’s worries? That was folly.

 

He watched the slight shifting of Leonard in sleep with a subtle sense of pleasure, the way his fingers would twitch as though tempted to reach for something he was seeing in dreams or his brows would draw together in concentration.

 

Barry reached out and tried to smooth the lines from between Leonard’s brows. Hazel eyes hazy with sleep cracked open to glare at him.

 

“Why are you awake?” Leonard asked, his voice rough and sleep-deep.

 

“Why aren’t you?” Barry shuffled closer until their legs were tangled and their faces were only separated by an inch. “How can you possibly sleep through church bells?”

 

 “Pure stubbornness.”

 

Barry kissed him until he felt Leonard’s frown crack and slip into a smile under his lips. When Leonard started kissing back, he knew he’d been forgiven for waking him up early.

 

Only then did Barry slide down his body and bring him to a crisis with his mouth as the church bells tolled in the distance.

 

After that it was easy to fall back into a half-slumber until the noises of Lisa moving about in the main rooms prompted them to rise and get ready for the day.

 

They caught a hansom cab out to the Cadogan Hotel around midday, Barry squeezed in the middle so Lisa could lean out the window and watch the world go by. When Leonard’s hand crept into his, he could hardly suppress the beaming smile that threatened to take over his whole face.

 

Once at the hotel, they were led inside to the dining room and seated. Lisa once again ordered for them but Barry was now used to the siblings’ routine and took it in his stride.

 

“Let’s plan our continental trip,” Lisa declared. Thus, the majority of their lunch was spent leaving a figurative trail of breadcrumbs across Europe and abroad.

 

“What do your parents think about you being out with strangers all hours of the day?” asked Lisa cheekily.

 

Leonard’s foot ran up against Barry’s own under the table and, instead of pulling back, stayed there. Barry was met with a roguish smirk when he shot a questioning look at him.

 

“My father is glad I’ve made friends to get me out from under his feet over the holidays.”

 

Lisa mock-gasped. “You’re not telling me you’re actual a little terror at home, are you? And you’ve been pretending to be respectable and civilised this entire time!”

 

“Unfortunately, I am exactly as boring as you perceive me to be.” Barry shrugged. “My parents simply despair of my reclusive ways.”

 

“On the contrary, I think you’re fascinating,” Leonard said.

 

Lisa groaned and threw her spent napkin in her brother’s face. “You would.” She stood abruptly and Barry hurried to follow suit. “Let’s walk to Hyde Park and have a stroll. It’s not that far away and it’s not terribly cold out today either.”

 

Neither man could deny Lisa anything, and so they assisted her with her coat and gloves and then rugged themselves up and began the stroll along Sloane Street towards Hyde Park.

 

They passed the walk amicably amongst themselves with small talk but as soon as they walked through the Triumphal Arch, Barry felt as though the atmosphere shifted.

 

Lisa seemed to gain new energy and flittered from person to person, having a word for everyone they passed. Some people she seemed to know and would touch them in the unselfconscious way she had. Others were total strangers but she treated them the same. Without exception, they were all charmed by her charisma and forwardness.

 

Barry could only smile as he walked side-by-side with Leonard, not talking, just admiring her antics. He was reminded of the brazen way the siblings had approached him the first night they’d met. He was glad of it now but remembered being bewildered at the time.

 

By the time they made it to Speaker’s Corner, there was a decent enough crowd gathered around listening to people speak. Leonard and Lisa lead him deep into the throng, never stopping long to listen to any one person, until they emerged on the other side on Oxford Street.

 

Barry excused himself there and thanked them for the pleasant luncheon. Leonard and Lisa watched him walk back down Park Lane in the direction of Knightsbridge and only hailed a cab once he was out of sight.

 

The ride back to the Savoy was quiet. Once they’d entered their rooms, Lisa hung her cape up and went straight to the mirror. There she shucked her gloves and began unpinning her hat. She continued once the hat was off, pulling hairpins from her tresses until one proved too irksome and she threw up her hands in frustration.

 

Leonard approached and helped her untangle the last few. When her hair was free and flowing down her shoulders, he looked at her in the mirror and asked, “Did you have much luck today?”

 

“There’s hardly any challenge in picking pockets, you know that.” The amount of valuables she then proceeded to pull from concealed compartments on her person was awe inspiring. There were pocket and wrist watches, a cigarette case, some loose bank notes and coins and most curiously, a single glass eye.

 

“True,” he admitted, picking through her takings and assessing the value, “but we do need some revenue.”

 

Barry had never even noticed what she’d been doing but Leonard had watched every move she made, every sleight of hand. He'd taught her most of them himself.

 

“How are things progressing with the Yank?” he asked, picking up a ring and inspecting the stone against the light coming in through the window. “Think we’ll have any luck there?”

 

Lisa huffed in frustration. “Yes, but it’s going to take time. Time we don’t have.”

 

“We’ll be fine.”

 

“We won’t.” Lisa picked the ring from between his fingers and disappeared it. “He’s getting close, I can feel it.”

 

Leonard could feel it too but he refused to admit it. Admitting it would mean the necessity of cutting ties and getting out of England post-haste. If Lewis caught up with them, he’d find some way to drag them into his schemes. That never went well. In fact, most times it ended spectacularly badly. And Leonard had so much more to lose now.

 

Lisa looked at him sadly, as though she could read his mind. “You’re going to have to leave him behind eventually.”

 

Something clenched tight in Leonard’s midsection and breathing started to feel like a chore rather than the unthought-of function it usually was. He knew all this had to come to an end eventually, he did. He’d just been enjoying himself so much that he’d bought into the fiction for a while.

 

He entertained the idea of swanning around London with Barry for the rest of his life and was surprised at how tempting that kind of future sounded.

 

A few more days, he promised himself, and then he’d make the hard decision.

 

**12**

 

Saturday 22nd March 1985

 

Barry knocked on the usual door and Lisa’s voice urged him to enter.

 

He’d received a telegram earlier that day calling him to the Snarts’ rooms at the Savoy, no reason given. It was not unusual for them to organise their meetings in such a way, but the reception he received when he entered their suite was entirely out of the ordinary.

 

There was a strange older man in the room with Lisa. He was not so well dressed as the Snart siblings and had something of a roguish air about him. Barry did not believe they’d ever been acquainted and Lisa seemed in no hurry to introduce them now. In fact, she gave no attention to his existence.

 

“My brother hasn’t yet returned. Please, Mr Allen, take a seat and I’ll fetch you a drink.” Lisa carried herself stiffly today, in stark contrast to her usual graceful movements. Barry had always thought she flowed like a stream, ever in movement and each movement fluid. “What would you like? Whiskey and soda? Champagne?”

 

“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account, Lady Lisa.” Barry fell into formality as a defence. He continued to side-eye the man in the room with them. He smiled back smarmily.

 

Lisa came to sit across from him. “I really did enjoy our luncheon the other day. We should–”

 

“Get on with it, Lisa,” the man demanded. His voice was rough.

 

Lisa stiffened, a faint tremor running through her. Her face was ashen, though Barry now noticed a splash of colour high on one cheek. Her eyes were apologetic as she looked at Barry. “I found something interesting myself to-day. I don’t know if Lenny told you or not, but we are to go abroad soon.”

 

A look of intense emotion flashed across Barry’s face but was quickly schooled into something more neutral. He didn’t trust this stranger and was not about to expose his deepest feelings in front of him. “He had not.”

 

“Then I am sorry you had to hear it from me. I have been tidying in preparation and came upon these.”

 

She produced letters from inside her jacket and placed them on the table between them, fingers shaking. Barry immediately recognised his own penmanship on the front of them.

 

“A curious construction could be put on your letters, Mr Allen,” the stranger said, suddenly only a few steps behind them. Barry startled; he hadn’t heard him approach. He could now guess what his intentions were, though.

 

Barry looked pleadingly at Lisa and saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

 

“Barry, I’m sorr–”

 

“Lisa.”

 

Both Lisa and Barry startled at Leonard’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, propped up against it; a labouring of breath hinted at some exertion to make it to their rooms quickly. He must have taken the stairs rather than the ascending room.

 

“Lenny, I was just –”

 

“Lisa. Leave.”

 

She wasted no time obeying him, hurrying from the room with a click of her heels and a swish of satin. Now it was just the three men in the room.

 

Barry sat motionless as Leonard stalked into the room and to Barry’s side. He glared at the man who even now had returned to lounging confidently against the wall.

 

He knelt in front of Barry and guided his face from side to side with gentle fingers, Barry feeling exposed under his steady, searching gaze.

 

“Did he hurt you?”

 

“No.” Barry despised how his voice trembled though. “Len, who is this man?”

 

“He’s no one you should be afraid of.”

 

“Shut up, sodomite.” Barry flinched at the insult even as Leonard’s eyes blazed with anger. Barry saw his fists clench and feared what the stranger might do if provoked. “I’ll get what I’m owed or you’ll find yourself in the stocks with that _enculé_.”

 

Leonard made to stand up. Barry tried to cling to his arm and keep him down, the chance of something bad happening seeming to multiply if the stranger was confronted rather than obeyed, but Leonard shrugged him off.

 

He stood to his full height and his voice was iron as he commanded, “Get out.”

 

The stranger sneered and pushed himself off the wall, stalking towards Leonard. Fear paralysed Barry. Fear of confrontation, fear of the unknown. So he could do nothing but watch as the stranger’s fist shot out and caught Leonard on the chin, knocking him back down to one knee.

 

There was fire in his eyes when Leonard looked back up at the man. He stood again and the stranger smirked. That’s when Leonard reached under his jacket and produced a pistol.

 

The stranger paled and backed up a few paces, raising his hands in surrender.

 

“Get. Out.”

 

The man pointed a finger in Leonard’s direction. “You’ll regret this. I’ll be back.”

 

“Get out!” Leonard roared. The pistol never wavered from its aim.

 

The stranger backed up, purposely knocking over a decorative vase as he went. Barry couldn’t help startling at the noise it made as it smashed upon the floor. The gun followed him until he’d pulled the front door open behind him and backed out through it, murderous hate in his eyes the whole time.

 

Silence blanketed the room and neither Barry nor Leonard moved for a full minute.

 

Footsteps were heard retreating from the room until they faded into nothing. Still the tableaux in the room remained unmoving.

 

Then all at once, Leonard slumped and Barry rushed to his side.

 

He guided the older man back towards the couch and sat him down, rushing to pour him a stiff drink next. The gun was slid haphazardly across the centre table.

 

“Who was that man, Len?” Barry asked desperately. “Why is he after me? I’ve never seen him in my life.”

 

“He’s not after you, he’s after me,” Leonard admitted, his head hung low. “You’re just a pawn in his game.”

 

“Am I in danger?” A hint of hysteria was entering Barry’s voice. “Letters… what could possibly come of some letters?”

 

“Nothing,” Leonard was quick to assure, grasping Barry’s hands between his own and looking him straight in the eye. “Nothing. I won’t let it. I’ll deal with him.”

 

“If you’re sure…”

 

Len nodded decidedly. “I am.”

 

Barry managed to muster up a fragile smile but it cracked apart almost instantly. “Lisa said you’re going abroad.”

 

“Not for a little while yet. I’m hoping you’ll suffer my presence a little longer.”

 

Barry pulled him in for a desperate kiss and just as suddenly pulled back.

 

“Why do you have a gun?”

 

A laugh was punched out of Leonard. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s check on Lisa.”

 

 

 

**13**

 

Thursday 28th March 1895

 

Barry was lunching in the Athenaeum Club’s public rooms with one of his professors and a classmate from Oxford. Dr Harrison Wells was renowned in science circles for his knowledge on electro-magnetic waves and had been charmed by Barry’s inquisitiveness in his first years of university. He’d quickly taken on a mentoring role for the young man. Francisco Ramon had entered the university a year after Barry and they’d been introduced by the professor, assuming correctly that the two young scholars would get along famously.

 

They had made it a habit to schedule informal tutoring sessions throughout the school year and, in more recent years, had continued those sessions through the holiday period. Dr Wells had invited them to his club, the Athenaeum, for lunch. Barry hoped he might become a member once he’d established himself.

 

They were all laughing at one of Francisco’s jokes when Barry caught sight of a familiar face stalking towards them. He’d cleaned himself up some but it was unmistakeably the man who’d threatened them in the Snarts’ apartment.

 

At first Barry thought he might veer off on other business but he continued straight for them until he was standing only a metre away and clearing his throat to catch Barry’s companion’s attention.

 

“Hello, Mr Allen,” he said. “A pleasure to see you again.”

 

Barry nodded, unsure of his voice. He wouldn’t know what to call the man even if he did address him. Leonard had assured him they would never be crossing paths again.

 

“Sorry to interrupt your little get-together,” he said, aiming his ingratiating smile at Barry’s companions. “Would you mind if I borrow Mr Allen for a moment?”

 

Francisco gave him a questioning look but Barry waved it off as he set aside him napkin and followed the man towards a private nook.

 

“What do you want?” he hissed as soon as they were out of sight.

 

The man snorted. “So the cat _has_ got claws.”

 

Barry was fairly trembling with rage at the man’s teasing. “I don’t know why you continue to harass me but it must stop.”

 

“That’s entirely up to you,” he replied, producing some papers from inside his coat. He held them up and Barry was hit with a feeling of déjà vu. He’d forgotten about the letters entirely after the confrontation with the man in Leonard’s apartment and yet here they were again. He must have grabbed and pocketed them after he’d knocked Leonard down.

 

Barry reached out towards the letters but they were quickly secreted away in the man’s coat again. In their place he offered Barry a calling card with an address scribbled hastily and messily over the back.

 

“I know where you live so don’t try and be smart, boy. I’ll think about my price and let you know. Then you’ll meet me here and there’d better not be any more funny business.”

 

Barry stared down dumbly at the piece of paper in his hands.

 

“Just pay up or things will get ugly,” the man warned in parting.

 

Barry returned to Dr Wells and Francisco but couldn’t stop thinking about the blackmailer. When Dr Wells asked if he was alright, Barry realised his worry must have been written all over his face and decided it was better if he excused himself early.

 

As he rushed from the club and into the street, he waved desperately for a hansom cab to stop.

 

 

**14**

 

“Len! Len! Where are you?”

 

Barry burst into the apartment in a panic. Lisa was the first to appear from her room, only leaning halfway out of the doorway, a blade in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. A yellowish tinge still marred her cheek but she was wearing some hair loose in front so as to try to conceal it.

 

“Barry?”

 

“Where’s Len?” asked Barry, moving deeper into the apartment.

 

“He was reading in his room,” she answered. “Barry, what’s wr—”

 

“Len!”

 

Lisa flinched and inched back into her room, putting more of the door between them. Barry felt instantly guilty.

 

“Lisa, I’m sorry.” He raised his hands placatingly and stopped where he was. “I just need to talk to your brother. Right now.”

 

“Barry?” Leonard emerged from the door opposite Lisa’s, without a jacket and with a bowtie hanging loose around his neck.

 

Barry grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into his room, closing the door behind them.

 

“He threatened me again, Len!” Barry paced the room. “In public, in front of my friends!”

 

“Barry,” Leonard said, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him in close so they were eye to eye. Barry stilled in surprise. “Calm down and tell me what happened.”

 

“The man who has my letters! He came to my professor’s club while we were at lunch and threatened me again. He knows where I live.” Leonard’s face was overtaken by a scowl. “Who is that man, Len? Why is he hounding me?”

 

Leonard sighed and slumped down onto the bed. Barry waited many moments in anxious silence before he spoke.

 

“His name is Lewis. He’s our father. Lisa’s and mine.”

 

Barry reeled back. “What? No, that’s not right.” A tinge of desperation entered his voice. “You’re an earl. You told me so.”

 

“It’s not true,” said Leonard, shaking his head. His voice changed as he spoke, the sounds becoming heavier and losing their crispness, morphing into that accent Barry had heard from rougher Londoners. It was as startling as if Leonard had whipped off his suit to reveal a chimney sweep’s uniform. “We’re not nobility. We’re no one.”

 

“Why did you pretend then?”

 

Leonard shrugged. “It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done.”

 

“And your father?”

 

“He’s not a good man. We’ve been… avoiding him as best we can for the better part of twenty years.”

 

 “And you were going to let me believe he was just some random blackmailer?” Barry was growing increasingly upset. “How did he find out about us? Did you tell him?”

 

“No, Barry. I would never.”

 

“And you expect me to just take you on your word? After this deception?”

 

Leonard seemed to realise the futility of arguing that contention in light of the current circumstances. Instead he hoped to ease Barry’s mind on another point. “Barry, there’s nothing in your letters that incriminates you.”

 

“You don’t know that! They’ll twist it and make it something disgusting. You see what that vile Marquess is trying to do to Wilde! What did he ever do to anyone except entertain them? I might not be as much sport as Wilde, but why wouldn’t they do the same to me? Society hates us.”

 

“Barry, I promise you. No harm will come to you. I won’t let it.”

 

Barry paused for a second to think, fear and anger still radiating from him. “This is your fault,” he eventually said, decisively. “They’ll get me but you’ll probably take up a new identity and escape to the other side of the world. They don’t have anything on you.”

 

Leonard knew in his heart he’d never do such a thing but arguing with Barry in this state seemed to be a futile exercise. He believed he’d been betrayed and Leonard had no physical proof to prove otherwise. Especially considering that had been exactly his and Lisa’s original plan. All he could think to say was, “I never meant for it to go like this, Barry.”

 

“Like what?” Barry asked indignantly. “Me finding out before your plan came to fruition?”

 

“No!” Leonard shouted, feeling Barry’s panic fuel his own. “I never meant to fall in love with you!” Leonard suddenly gasped in a breath and then clasped his lips tightly together, as though afraid of what else might spill forth from them.

 

Barry, too, was struck dumb. Competing emotions warred within him, pulling him to-and-fro but never showing him plainly the way he should proceed. He couldn’t just cut ties and be done, and yet to reconcile so quickly would be folly.

 

Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to have heard those words at any other time.

 

In the end he said nothing.

 

He simply exited the room and left.

 

 

 

**15**

Saturday 30th March 1895

 

It wasn’t hard to find Lewis. He still haunted the same slums he always had.

 

Leonard found him in an inn of disrepute, a known congregating place for thieves and fencers. Even as he walked through the door, two men were arguing near the hearth over the price of some silverware the thief had undoubtedly obtained through less than legal means.

 

Lewis was at the bar and he saw Leonard approaching. “Son.”

 

“Lewis.” Leonard took the seat beside him.

 

“Come to apologise?”

 

Leonard gave him a patronising look. “Did you honestly think I would?”

 

“No, you’re too damn stupid to know what’s best for you.” Lewis scowled and took a deep pull from his mug. “Why’re you here then?”

 

“Leave Barry alone.”

 

That got Lewis’ attention. He swung around, obviously sensing he had something to hold over Leonard for once. “Why? He’s a good score.”

 

“He’s not a toy for you to play with.”

 

Lewis’ expression darkened. “The whole _world_ ’s ours to play with. I taught you that, don’t you remember? I obviously didn’t beat it into you hard enough. I won’t make that mistake a second time.”

 

“Don’t pretend as if I’m still that small, fragile boy you terrorised. Your threats mean nothing to me now.”

 

Lewis snorted. “We’ll see about that. A heavy hand seemed to work well enough on your sister.” He took a drink from his cup and then noted, “You’re fairly keen to keep your rent boy protected.”

 

Leonard felt his blood boil, not just at the mention of what Lewis had done to his sister but also at the insult to Barry. “You stay away from him or I’ll kill you.”

 

“As if I haven’t heard that before. You’re all talk, boy.”

 

“Just give me the letters.” Resignedly, he added, “I’ll make sure you get whatever you’re asking.”

 

“You’re too late. Somebody already made it worth my while to pass ‘em along. And besides, you owe me for much more than some catamite’s sordid letters. It’s your fault the Fitzpatrick job went wrong.”

 

Leonard had to grit his teeth against arguing that the Fitzpatrick job had gone badly because of Lewis’ poor planning. Leonard had barely got out of that one by the skin of his teeth. Lewis didn’t see it that way though. Lewis never recognised his own failings.

 

Leonard stood. “If you don’t have the letters then I’m done here.”

 

“Don’t be so uptight, son. Your catamite’ll pay up and then you can leave that mess behind. Join up with me and we’ll work a job together. For old time’s sake.”

 

Leonard scowled at him and left without favouring him with a response. Hatred slivered through his veins.

 

He waited in an alley opposite the inn, smoking cigarette after cigarette to pass the time. There was still a wintery chill in the air and he pulled his jacket tighter around himself to fend it off. People came and went all night, none of them looking particularly innocent.

 

It was well after midnight when Leonard finally recognised Lewis’ familiar frame coming out through the front door. He staggered a little as he walked, drunk as a lord.

 

Leonard trailed him, slowly decreasing the distance between them as they went.

 

When they were almost side by side and Lewis might notice him despite his drunkenness, Leonard drew his pistol and shot him in the heart.

 

 

**16**

Tuesday 2nd April 1895

 

With Lewis dead, it had taken Leonard a bit of sleuthing to eventually get the information he needed about the whereabouts of Barry’s letters. Luckily his name still held some sway among the less reputable groups in town and when that wasn’t enough to get them to talk, he was always happy to resort to a bit of violence.

 

That was how he found himself in a pub in the Whitechapel slums, bargaining with a man who he’d much rather just kill.

 

He had the letters and was willing to give them up for a price though, and that was all that mattered now that Leonard’s father was out of the picture.

 

They were just finishing up their transaction when a voice came from the doorway. “If it isn’t Leonard Snart.”

 

Leonard turned around to find Mark Mardon, a petty thief. They had worked together at one point, many years ago now, and time hadn’t been kind to the man. He looked ragged, hair too long and clothes too old. As he approached it became apparent that his breath was ripe with the stench of alcohol.

 

“Mardon.” Leonard nodded in greeting. “How’ve you been?”

 

Mark’s expression darkened. “Don’t act chummy with me. I haven’t forgotten it‘s your fault Clyde’s dead.”

 

Leonard had almost forgotten that detail. In his defence, he’d killed and gotten killed a lot of men in his time and the Mardon brothers had been boringly forgettable. As a matter of fact, now that he thought about it, it was on the Fitzpatrick job that the younger Mardon had been killed. Leonard internally cursed Lewis and, not for the first time since he’d killed him, hoped he was burning in hellfire.

 

“Bad business, that was.”

 

Mark scoffed. “I know you don’t care. And I don’t care if you ever do. But I’ll have my revenge one way or another. There’s a lot of people ‘round this town who’d be very interested to know your whereabouts, Snart.”

 

Leonard recognised that for the threat it was. It looked like his and Lisa’s respite in England was at an end.

 

Having said his piece, Mark headed for the bar with the group he’d walked in with.

 

Leonard quickly concluded his deal with the blackmailer and shoved Barry’s letters in the inside pocket of his coat. With business done, he made to hurry from the pub.

 

“Better watch your back, Snart,” Mark yelled after him. A chorus of jeers followed.

 

Leonard didn’t doubt Mark would carry through on his threat. This was why he and Lisa had tried to get in and get out as quickly and efficiently as possible. There were many people who would be happy to see them come to harm and others who would actively try to make it happen.

 

If Mark knew they were back in town, soon the whole criminal underworld would.

 

He’d been careless. In his fervour to protect Barry he’d forgotten to protect himself and Lisa first.

 

He had a keen sense of being watched and followed the entire way back to the Savoy.

 

 

**17**

Sunday 7th April 1895

 

Barry had received another strange telegram calling him to the Savoy.

 

At first, he’d thought of ignoring it. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the Snart siblings anymore. Their father was trying to blackmail him and – despite what Len had said to the contrary – who was to say they weren’t still involved in his machinations.

 

But his softer side had won him over. He wanted to believe Leonard and more than anything he wanted to see him again. He didn’t care that Leonard had falsified his own heritage and potentially preyed on his nature; the man he’d grown to adore was real. He was certain of it.

 

The thought of his letters still hung heavy on him though. He had not been sleeping well. Oscar Wilde had been arrested the previous day and the evening papers had reported the facts with more than a little glee. It felt like Barry had the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, ready to drop at any moment. He did not regret the feelings that he had laid bare in those letters, only that the world should try to shame and degrade him for them.

 

Thus, he found himself standing in Savoy Court looking up at the Savoy Hotel & Theatre sign at the entrance of the hotel.

 

He wasn’t expecting the hustle and bustle that greeted him when he arrived at the Snarts’ rooms.

 

Porters were taking luggage from Leonard and Lisa’s rooms, the siblings in question just as animated as they packed and gave directions. A pageboy with letters in hand almost knocked Barry over as he rushed through the doorway. “Sorry, sir!” he yelled back over his shoulder. Barry stood in the doorway for many minutes watching the chaos unfold before he was spotted.

 

“Barry!” Lisa exclaimed, arms outstretched and quickly enfolding him in a crushing embrace much stronger than her appearance would lead one to believe she was capable of.

 

Leonard’s approach was much more subdued. “Hello, Barry. Thank you for coming.”

 

Barry shrugged. “I thought it might have something to do with the letters. I still haven’t heard from your father.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore. It’s sorted.”

 

Barry frowned. “Len, you can’t know that. Oscar Wilde has been arrested. This kind of thing is in the public eye at the moment. What if your father tries something?”

 

“Barry. My father is gone and I have your letters,” Leonard stressed. “There is no danger.”

 

“You have… my letters?”

 

“Yes, I bought them back. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

 

“But—”

 

“Barry. It will be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. Come.”

 

Leonard led Barry into his room where a solitary candle was burning incongruously on the bedside table, adding nothing to the brightness produced by the electric lights. He produced the sheaf of Barry’s letters from his jacket, allowing him to look and see that they were the real thing.

 

Then he held them over the candle and let them catch fire.

 

“What are you doing?” shouted Barry, trying to grab the letters off him.

 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” asked Leonard, extending his arm until the letters were out of Barry’s reach. “I’m burning your letters.”

 

“Why? Why would you do that!?”

 

“To protect you,” answered Leonard, watching as the flame crept up the letters. When it threatened his fingers, he dropped them in a waiting ashtray.

 

Barry faltered and almost looked ashamed. “But… I mean, do they mean so little to you?”

 

“Barry, I don’t need them,” Leonard assured, quickly adding, “I could recite to you every word you wrote to me right now, if you wished. Shall I? _Dearest Len, I have returned to college to see the term out but I feel now –_ intensely _– that something is lacking in_ —”

 

“Stop. Stop!” Barry entreated. “I take your point.”

 

Silence reigned as they watched the last of the paper smoulder into ashes.

 

“Who are you really?”

 

“Not a lord, that’s for sure.”

 

“I mean, is Leonard even your real name?”

 

“Yes.”

 

More hesitantly, Barry asked, “Did you mean what you said, when we last parted?”

 

Leonard answered instantly. “Yes.”

 

Some tension seemed to leave Barry’s body then. “But you have to leave?”

 

“Yes. There are people who are after us. Our lives will be forfeit if we stay.”

 

“Do I want to know why?”

 

“No, it’s probably better if you don’t.”

 

“I’ll miss you. Terribly.”

 

“How much longer do you have left of your schooling?”

 

Barry frowned at the question but answered, “A little over a year. Why?”

 

“When you go on your grand tour, come find us. Ask for me at _Saints et Pécheurs_ in Montmartre in Paris. I’ll be waiting.”

 

A knock came at the door. “Lenny! Everything’s packed. We have to go or we’ll miss our train.”

 

Barry grabbed for his hand desperately. Leonard could already see the heartbreak in his eyes.

 

“We’ll meet again,” he promised and kissed Barry gently on the lips.

 

Barry’s hand slipped from his as he walked away, not looking back for fear of what he might do (or not do) if he saw Barry’s tear-streaked face.

 

Lisa gave him a sad smile and a touch on the shoulder as he joined her, and then the two of them left their rooms at the Savoy for the last time.

 

 

**18**

Sunday, 26 July 1896

 

_Saints et Pécheurs_ had seen better days. Barry stood across the street and took in its tired façade, wedged between two other buildings. He’d arrived into Paris at Gare du Nord half an hour ago. The scaffolding for Sacré-Cœur Basilica had dominated the skyline as he’d followed the Boulevard de la Chapelle as it circled around the _butte Montmartre_. He could have taken a fiacre, the four-wheeled carriages that crowded outside the station, but had felt like the walk would let him think things through and calm down. He’d had nothing to do but reflect on the folly of this journey for the eight hours it took from London to Paris.

 

It was more than likely that Leonard had forgotten about him in the year and a half since they’d last seen each other. His greatest fear was that he would find him exactly where he’d said he would be, but that the man would be dismissive of him, would send him away with nothing to show for his year and a half of pining.

 

Barry continued to muster his courage for a good quarter hour. He simply didn’t know what he’d do if this fell through. A year and a couple of months of hope without any contact. It could all go so horribly wrong. Or he could turn back now and possibly spare himself the pain. The idea that Leonard would wait for him seemed absurd now.

 

As the sun set he finally made up his mind to proceed.

 

The inside of the bar wasn’t in much better repair than the outside.

 

The bartender wiped the bar in front of him, laid down a coaster and asked, “Qu'est ce que je vous sers?”

 

“Un verre de vin blanc, s'il vous plaît.”

 

Barry paid the bartender when he returned with his drink. After he’d received his change, the man turned away to see to his next customer but Barry stopped him with an “Excusez-moi.” When he was sure he had the bartender’s attention, he continued, “Je cherche un homme qui s’appelle Leonard Snart.”

 

“Il est en haut,” he replied, pointing towards a far corner at the back of _Saints et Pécheurs_ where Barry assumed the stairs were located _._

With more than a little bit of trepidation, Barry began his ascent. It was an old building indeed, the stairwell was cramped and the stairs shorter than the breadth of his foot. He kept a tenuous grip on the balustrade the whole time.

 

There were several tables on the second floor but only one was occupied. A man was seated there, leant over a drink and with some papers spread out around him.

 

“Len?”

 

The man turned slowly. “Barry?”

 

The following moments seemed to race by and the next thing Barry knew, he was enfolded in Leonard’s embrace.

 

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Leonard said, voice breathless with wonder.

 

“Of course I did.”

 

Leonard smiled at him like he never had before and all of Barry’s worries floated away. The urge to kiss the man he loved and had been separated from for over a year was irresistible – and nor did he have any desire not to submit to it. They crashed together at first with an eagerness that was to be expected after their long parting but it didn’t take long to remember the way they had been on those short weeks together and to slip back into that comfortable place.  

 

“So,” Barry said, finally drawing back, “where to next?”

 

“Everywhere,” was Leonard’s response.

 

 


End file.
